


#27: Never Get Your Hair Cut the Day of a Special Event

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [27]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hospitals, M/M, injuries, ruined plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint ends up in Medical the day of a special evening with Phil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#27: Never Get Your Hair Cut the Day of a Special Event

“I know you weren’t really looking forward to tonight, but seriously, Clint, this is taking things to a new low,” Phil said quietly, even though Clint currently couldn’t hear him. 

Clint was unconscious in a bed in SHIELD’s medical bay, half of his hair shaved away so the medics could put stitches into his scalp after he’d gone head first through a plate glass window.

They were supposed to be attending a charity event Stark was hosting that evening, partly as security, partly to track down a couple of leads that had cropped up in connection to the billionaire turned superhero, and partly because Stark always seemed to be one drink away from turning from super genius to megalomaniacal terror bent on world domination just because he could. But a last minute mission had come up for Clint (who had been making a nuisance of himself around the West Coast office while Phil was undertaking an audit and personnel reviews); what was supposed to have been a simple kill order on a mid-level target without handler supervision had turned into a chase through buildings, culminating with Clint taking a flying leap through a window (Phil wasn’t clear on whether he’d jumped or been pushed, but he would be clearing that up as soon as Clint was conscious again).

Ordinarily, it would have been one of them with Natasha inside while the other ran things from the van (or in this case, secured hotel room upstairs). But Fury had suggested keeping Natasha in reserve in case they needed to get to Stark via seduction in the future. So, it was Clint and Phil tapped for the party while Natasha got to curl up in the hotel room in sweats and fuzzy socks and keep an eye on things from afar. 

Okay, so Phil knew she’d probably be in her catsuit and armed to the teeth ready to provide backup, but he’d been teasing Clint with the image all week, and he was rather fond of relaxed-at-home-weekend-Natasha. 

Phil sighed and slumped in the uncomfortable chair pulled up to Clint’s bedside. “Didn’t you know you’re not supposed to get your hair cut the same day as a special event?”

“S’not that spe’ial,” Clint mutter/slurred, his eyes barely open a slit. “S’jus Star’.”

Phil snorted. “And I can’t possibly have been looking forward to an evening out with you dressed in a tux? That sounds special to me.”

Clint hmm’ed, and his mouth twitched down. “Sorry,” he murmured. The fingers of his left hand curled slightly, and Phil took it for the invitation that it was, sliding his palm against Clint’s and twining their fingers together, careful of the needle in the back of his hand and heart monitor clipped to his finger.

“It’s okay,” Phil said quietly, scooting his chair closer. “I’m just happy you’re going to be alright.”

Clint had been able to call for extraction before they’d lost contact, as since he was nominally still listed as Clint’s handler (not to mention personal emergency contact), Phil had been notified when they’d brought him in. Other than the cuts and bruises, the main concern had been the possibility of a spinal injury. Scans had revealed that wasn’t the case, but Clint had still hurt his back during the fall. It wasn’t anything that bed rest, heat, etc wouldn’t take care of.

“S’bad?” Clint slurred.

“You’ve had worse,” Phil said gently, bringing his free hand up to trace the frown creasing the skin between Clint’s eyes, as if he could erase it. “They knocked you out because you strained your back pretty good.”

Clint hummed again. “Hair?”

Phil snorted a laugh despite himself. “They shaved half to put in stitches. A lot of stitches. What have we said about going through windows?”

“Def’n’stra’on not va’id esxit s’ag’egy,” Clint responded, more than half mumbled.

“Damn straight,” Phil said gruffly, giving Clint’s hand a squeeze though he felt a little ill himself at being able to understand his partner’s half-slurred words after so many years of practice. “Get some rest. Sitwell’s taking point at the party tonight.”

“I’ you kiss ‘im, I wan’ pic’ures,” Clint said, his voice fading.

“I’m not going anywhere, idiot,” Phil said fondly.

“Mm. ‘Ay.” Between one breath and the next, Clint fell still, his chest raising and falling evenly.

Phil sat back in the chair, not letting Clint’s hand go.

**Author's Note:**

> Clint says "not that special. It's just Stark" and "defenestration is not a valid exit strategy," before demanding pictures if Phil kisses Jasper while at the party.


End file.
